Fly Me a River of Blood
by SBMntReader
Summary: The Reavers are not at the pinnacle of the food chain. This is what happens when you have a marathon viewing of the entire Firefly series and follow it with "Serenity" when you're supposed to be writing. As usual, includes my own charactors as well.


**Chapter 1**

True Blood belongs to Alan Ball. Firefly belongs to Joss Whedon. Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke. All OC's belong to me.

* * *

><p>2517 AD<p>

After all the Earth was used up we terraformed a whole new galaxy to colonize. An alliance of central planets decided that all should live under one rule – but not everyone agreed and civil war broke out. After the war the central core kept the majority of the new technologies, while the former rebels settled in the outer colonies received much less.

But more than just humans fled the broken Earth that was and roamed among the stars. With no other place to go, supernatural beings learned new ways to survive. Many of the most talented minds to ever exist from the old Earth had been turned immortal – thus the vampires were able to create other types of new technologies, technologies that even rivaled or surpassed those of the Alliance.

The Great Revelation had not worked as planned on the Earth that was, thus the vampires strove to keep separate from the Alliance. In turn, not trusting the vampires, the Alliance purged the truth of The Great Revelation from their history books. Sometimes, though, things didn't go as planned…

/ O \\\\\

__Take my love, take my land, take me where I can not stand__

__I don't care, I'm still free, you can't take the sky from me__

__Take me out to the black; tell them I ain't comin' back__

__Burn the land and boil the seas, you can't take the sky from me...__

__/ O \\\\\__

"What's all the ruckus 'bout Wash?" Captain Mal asked his pilot sleepily after being awoken in the middle of the sleep cycle.

"Distress call Cap'n – Colonists; they over half their groups dead, 'cludin all their mechanics. Ship's damaged by a meteorite. Ain't gonna make it if they can't fix the damage. Willin' ta trade extra Alliance colonist rations fer parts 'n labor so they can get on their way."

Allowing the information to percolate thru his sleep addled brain, Mal couldn't think of a single reason to turn such a trade down. They needed a job and soon, yet it seemed almost too good to be true – thus making him suspicious. Still a job was a job – and this one ought to be quick, easy and profitable. It was even in the grey legal area Alliance wise. Colonists weren't supposed to trade rations - but in emergency situations such as these allowances were made, allowances that would enable him to sell on the open market for a better price. Even if the other ship was too damaged to repair he could charge them transport to an Alliance port. Yet … something just didn't smell right.

"How far are they from us Wash?" He asked wearily, "Any chance someone else'll come along?"

"Take us 'bout four, five hours to reach 'em." The pilot continued on, "We're pretty far out Capt'n, almost to the edge; mostly unexplored and uncharted beyond. Reavers might find 'em; we're probably their only chance to survive."

That settled it; Mal wasn't the type to leave others to die if he could prevent it. Whether he wanted it or not they had a job. "Tell 'em we'll be there in 6 hours. Wake the crew in 3 hours, have Zoe and Jayne prep in case of trouble. Let Simon know there will be injured to tend – have Sheppard give him a hand. I'll talk to Kaylee myself now…does she have a name?"

"The **__**Stoker**__** …"

Mal mused on that. It sounded vaguely familiar – almost like something out of a dream. As he turned to leave he added, "Grab a few winks as well yourself if ya can."

/ / / / / o o o \ \ \ \ \

After disconnecting communications with **__**Serenity**__**, the captain of the **__**Stoker**__** opened a concealed panel and pushed a single button. "**__**Stoke**__**r to **__**Valkerie**__**."

"This is **__**Valkerie**__**"

"We need to change the hunt to a human friendly one."

"There's a ship way out here!"

"**__**Serenity**__**"

"Did you say **__**Serenity**__**?"

"Yes, **__**Serenity**__**"

"Again? How many times is that now, 4 or 5?"

"I believe this will be 6 now Sire."

"Malcomb still Captain of her?"

"Yes Sire."

"How many on board?"

"It looks like nine onboard Sire"

"We'll rendezvous with you in 20 minutes to transfer needed window dressing and human personnel - will that be soon enough?"

"Yes, they told us 6 hours – but are actually 4 to 5 hours out Sire"

"Very well then, **__**Valkerie**__** out"

In turn the **__**Valkerie**__** opened a new channel to the lead ship – **__**Valhalla**__**.

"Oh Captain my captain…" came a cocky voice over the speaker.

Erik Northman groaned, wondering what unexpected news his progeny, and his mate's consort, was dying to impart. Dean only quoted 19th century poets when he was trying to annoy him. Unwilling to allow the younger vampire the satisfaction, Erik opened his communications line…

"…Exult, O shores and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead."

…finishing the Whitman poem for his childe. Continuing on he asked, "So what unexpected news do I have to look forward too?"

Coyly Dean asked, "Just wondering if you have Malcomb Reynolds glamoured to show up when it's your turn to go hunting…Sire."

"You mean to tell me…"

"Yup, **__**Serenity**__** is headed to intercept and aid **__**Stoker**__**…again."

A string of harsh expletives in Old Norse rang out over the intercom as the only answer. Patiently, a trait it had taken him 300 years to master, Dean waited for the rest of his Maker's reply. Fortunately it was a short wait.

"Very well then, we can not stop them without causing them to ask too many questions. Are any Reavers headed in **__**Stokers**__**direction?"

"Yes – one of their larger vessels. If it continues on its current course it will pass close enough to **__**Stoker**__** to see her in about 7 hours give or take."

"That is too close to******__**Serenity's**__** timetable, be sure and task enough vampires to get her crew and passengers to the safe zones. Since we will need extra humans – use more who are on their first hunt and allow a few extra fear feeders among the vampire contingent." There was a pause before Erik continued, "I think I will join the bait party personally. Our attack should go more smoothly if I release Captain Reynolds from his glamour before the Reavers appear. Also make plans for us to bring **__**Serenity**__** back to Mirka – I doubt the Reavers will leave her undamaged."

Snarkily Dean asked, "Are you sure you're not joining the bait team just to be with Magan?"

"Joining my mate will be a bonus." The Viking darkly admitted.

"Positive about that?" Dean pushed.

"Of course" the 1500 + year old vampire purred menacingly. "Jealous?"

"Maybe a little." Said mate's consort admitted.

/ / / / / o o o \ \ \ \ \

5 ½ hours later, **__**Serenity**__** floated into sight of the **__**Stoker**__**. For what they thought was the first time, her crew looked over the damaged ship.

"What ya think Kaylee?" Malcom asked his quirky mechanic.

"She's pretty bad beat up Cap'n…"

"…but can ya fix her?"

"Given enough time I should; just depends how bad she is inside."

Mal resisted shuddering – something about the other ship creepified him; looking 'round at his crew it seemed they were getting' the heebie-jeebies as well. He ought just leave now he thought…but he badly needed the work. Kaylee needed new parts fer the engine; the food stores were low, as well as fuel. Plus he'd agreed already and they were here. Opening a channel, he hailed the**__**Stoker**__**.

"**__**Stoker**__**, this is Captain Malcom Reynolds of **__**Serenity ...**__**


End file.
